


The Hawk and the Hound

by PorntiusPilate



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Chess Metaphors, F/M, Lemon, Roy’s kinda dumb, Spoilers, They gonna fuck, Vanilla, lets be honest here, porn with (some) plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-01
Updated: 2019-07-01
Packaged: 2020-05-31 17:47:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19430995
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PorntiusPilate/pseuds/PorntiusPilate
Summary: After the events of Brotherhood, Roy has a lot of free time on his hands. So does Riza. They could spend some of that free time together, but they might need a bit of help.





	The Hawk and the Hound

**Author's Note:**

> First (posted) story! Wrote this one a while ago, reread it, liked it, decided to post. Enjoy!
> 
> Oh and by the way I know my verb tense is fuck-awful, so if you’re annoyed by that shit, you have my apologies.
> 
> Criticism always welcome! And I’m vain as hell, so compliments are also always welcome! Leave comments if you enjoyed!

His screech was like nothing she had ever heard, his throat strained raw as a fiery inferno engulfed his body, searing down to the bone. The man was relentless, each snap of his fingers drawing oxygen from the air to explode, filling his victim's lungs with fire and death. But as fast as the flesh seared away, it would return in a flash of malicious red light, trapping the nigh-immortal being in a ceaseless cycle of soul-rending pain.  
Roy Mustang raised his hand once more, teeth grit together so tightly they threatened to break from the stress, fully intending to burn away his own humanity with the pathetic wretch before him, anything for the taste of revenge so long in coming. His eyes burned brighter than any flame he could create, and his lips split into a devil's smile. As his fingers pressed together, the metallic sound of a gun's hammer cocking back caught his attention, and his hand paused, muscles tensed.  
“What are you doing, lieutenant?” he growled, voice hoarse with unrestrained rage. His eyes never left the writhing, seared form of the homunculus before him.  
“Colonel, stop. Let me handle him, sir.” Riza Hawkeye's finger held steady on the trigger, the muzzle pointed at the back of her commanding officer's head. Her voice was calm, not a single tremble of emotion giving away her fear and grief at what she knew she would have to do if he snapped his fingers again.  
“There's no way I'm giving up on my revenge, lieutenant... Not even for you.” teeth gritting again, his fingers snapped together one last time, the explosion before them joined by the echoing shot of her pistol. Her shot was true, catching her commander just below his left ear, sending him pitching forward in a spurt of crimson. Riza's heart shattered in her chest, but the body that collapsed to the floor was not that of Colonel Mustang, but of a young, brown-skinned child, laying face down in the desert sands, blood pooling around him. As her breath caught in her throat, the pistol in her hand still smoking, an explosion sounded behind her, fire searing across her back. She cried out in pain and fear, heart racing as she sat up in bed, the darkness of her room masking her sweat-slick figure, breath coming in short, heavy gasps as she fought to make sense of what had happened.  
It was a dream, a nightmare, and one she had had before, though that never made it any easier. To make matters worse, the dream always made her scar hurt. The scar set her free of her father's burdens, but it always reminded her of the price for that freedom. It didn't take long for a soft whimper and a wet nose on her arm to take her out of her thoughts, a soft smile spreading across her features.  
“It's okay, Hayate. It was just a dream. Thank you for worrying about me.” She ruffled the dog's fur between his ears and gave him a small hug before rising to her feet, stretching some to release the tension in her back. She padded silently across her small apartment, effortlessly navigating through the pitch-black rooms, pouring herself a glass of water and Hayate a bowl of kibble for breakfast – she never could get back to sleep after a dream like that.  
Running a hand through her short blonde hair, cut short once more not long after the conclusion of the incident with the homunculi, Hawkeye gasped in surprise as the crisp ring of her phone echoed through the quiet room. Who could be calling at this hour? Raising the phone to her ear, she started to speak, surprise slipping into her voice as the other side responds. “General Mustang?”

***

General Mustang. Wasn’t quite as nice as Führer Mustang, but Roy liked the sound of it nonetheless. Besides, all he had to do was wait for old man Grumman to kick the bucket and the title would be his for the taking once more.  
“Check,” the old fart sitting across from him said, his lips stretching into a smile beneath that ludicrous mustache. Mustang’s brow furrowed as he surveyed the battlefield, his ungloved hand resting over his mouth as he thought. Grumman had him in a bind here. He could block the advance with his knight, but that would open up his left flank to an attack from the bishop. He could deal with that as well, but doing so would sacrifice his rook, leave his right side weak, and ultimately kill his Queen in the ensuing bloodbath. Unbidden, Lieutenant Riza Hawkeye’s face flashed before his mind. He’d die before sacrificing his men in a futile defense.  
With a heavy sigh, Mustang reached out and tipped over his king, deflating a little in his chair as he leans back. “Got me again, old man.”  
“Is that really any way to address your Fuhrer, Mustang?” Grumman laughed that genial laugh of his, setting about rearranging the pieces to recreate an earlier part of their battle.  
“Right now, you’re my chess opponent, sir, nothing more.” Roy smirked back at him, watching the old man walk him through a few moves they had played earlier. As prideful as he was, it wasn't difficult for Roy to say he respected the old man’s fortitude.  
“You nearly had me here. If you had advanced with your Queen, her sacrifice would have opened me up for an assault from the knight and rook, sealing my fate then and there.”  
“I wont sacrifice my people for a hollow victory.” Riza’s face entered his mind again, but he pushed it away. They were talking about chess right now.  
“And your unwillingness to sacrifice for the greater good got you killed. See why I'm the Fuhrer, and you’re not, Mustang?”  
Mustang sat in silence for a moment, hand over his mouth again as he digested his mentor’s words. After a few moments, he finally replied, his voice measured and calm. “A friend once told me a King should fight for his subjects.”  
Grumman grinned - he had been expecting that answer. Even a conversation with the old bastard was like a game of chess. “I agree. All of his subjects, not just the ones he likes.” Grumman sighed quietly, placing the pieces back on their starting positions. “And how are you supposed to fight for them if you die, huh? You’re not getting any younger, Mustang. It’s time you stop being so naive, don't you think? You go first this round.”  
The second round went much differently. Fuhrer Grumman was all attack, trying to force his point by putting Mustang in a bad position if he didn't sacrifice. But true to form, Roy was cautious, and avoided trading his precious queen for a winning position on the board. When Mustang moved the queen away from an attack one last time, Grumman sighed, siding his glasses away to clean them.  
“You just don't learn, do you boy?” Grumman moved his rook into check, leaving himself exposed but giving Mustang no option but to kill it or die - running away would give Grumman checkmate in two moves.  
This time, it was Mustang’s turn to grin. The fuhrer’s obsession with proving his point made him blind. He killed the rook with his queen, offering her up as sacrifice... or so Grumman at first thought. If he moved his knight to kill her, he was in check. She was protected, and no matter what he did, Grumman lost in only three moves.  
Letting out a genial laugh, Fuhrer Grumman tipped over his king, pride shining in his eyes as he slid his glasses back into place. This boy would make a dangerous leader someday.  
“You know, you’re not getting any younger either, Fuhrer.” Mustang smirked, proud of himself, and took a long drink of tea.  
“You’re right! So when are you and my granddaughter gonna give me some great grandchildren, huh?” Grumman gathered the pieces once more, even as Mustang seemed to drown himself on the scalding liquid, surprise forcing more than just a little bit into his lungs.  
After he finally finished coughing, Mustang looked at the gray old man, pained tears in his eyes “Excuse me, sir?”  
“My granddaughter, Lieutenant Hawkeye. When are you gonna knock her up and get me some damn grandkids?” Grumman glared at the younger man, but there was no malice in it.  
Mustang’s mouth gaped open. He had joked about the two of them getting married, but this was the first time Grumman had been quite so... blunt. “Sir, I’m her superior officer. That would be deeply improp-“ he began, but Grumman cut him off with a curt wave.  
“Since when has the great philanderer Roy Mustang cared for propriety? Last I'd heard, you’d bedded half the ladies in your regiment!”  
Half? The rumors were growing. He would have to put a stop to them. “Besides, sir, she doesn't feel for me that way.” That didn't feel like the truth either, but Mustang wasn't sure what the truth even was anymore.  
“Oh please Mustang, she’s completely devoted to you. You really think that’s all just work ethic?” Mustang remained silent, feeling more powerless than he had in a long time. Grumman packed up his chess set in silence, letting Mustang stew in his own thoughts for a while. On his way out, he patted the dark-haired man on the shoulder with an almost fatherly familiarity. “If you wont sacrifice others to get what you want Mustang, sometimes you gotta sacrifice something of yours to get what you really need. Think about what I've told you.” With a whistle, Grumman saw himself out, the latch clicking shut behind him.  
Mustang sat alone in his office, throat raw from the searing tea, pulse pounding in his ears. That bastard Grumman... Mustang had been perfectly happy not thinking about his lieutenant like that, no matter how much the old bastard poked and prodded. No matter. He had work to do. As Mustang began to rise to his feet, hands braced on the table, he noticed that Grumman had forgotten a couple of pieces – The black King and Queen, standing next to each other, alone. Roy couldn't help but laugh. Reaching out with an ungloved hand, he flicked over the king. The wooden piece clacked against the table top, falling at his Queen's feet.  
“Checkmate, Grumman. You win again. You old bastard.”

***

“General Mustang?”  
Roy's mouth dried immediately, his tongue refusing to move as he needed it to. His lips parted and closed a few times, flapping dumbly in the air. This was not the normally confident and suave man he, and others, saw him as. He tried to clear his throat, to force himself to speak, but only managed to inhale some saliva and break into a coughing fit.  
“General Mustang, what's wrong? Are you hurt?” Concern quickly replaced the surprise in Hawkeye's voice, her mind immediately going to the location of her pistols and uniform. She could be dressed and on the way to his side in less than two minutes, one if she finished dressing in the car.  
“No,” Mustang managed, taking a deep breath to calm his hacking lungs. “I'm fine. Just... breathing like a novice.” This was not going as well as he had imagined it. Maybe he should hang up and start over.  
“...Oh. So then..?” Hawkeye's voice trailed off, now confusion taking the place of her previous concern. The general was acting very, very strangely. Why had he called at this hour? Why was he not resting? Had he been at the bar again? He didn't sound drunk this time.  
Think, Roy. You need a good excuse. “I... I was hoping you would be willing to come in and help with some paperwork! It's getting rather late, and it needs to be done as soon as possible. I could really use your help.” Not a good excuse by any means, but an excuse nonetheless. Mustang could practically feel the lieutenant facepalm on the other line.  
“Paperwork seems like it can wait until tomorrow morning,” Hawkeye replied dryly, her free hand resting on one hip as she listens to him try to convince her. He wasn't being very convincing. “Listen sir, it's very late. I'll be in just as soon as the sun rises. I promise we'll get it done before the fuhrer comes looking for it.” Hawkeye pulled the receiver from her ear and moved to hang up, but the sound of him calling her name, her first name, made her pause. “...Sir? Is everything alright?” He'd never called her Riza before. Not since before the Ishvalan Civil War. Something strange was going on.  
Mustang opened his mouth to speak again, but found the words had left him before he had the chance to share them. “Yes, Lieutenant. Everything is fine. I'll see you bright and early. Sleep well.”  
Hawkeye hesitated a moment. If it was important, she trusted him to tell her. Once he was ready, he'd confide in her, just as he always had before. “You too, sir.”

***

The next morning, Hawkeye arrived at Eastern Command Headquarters just as the sun crested over the horizon, as promised. She was surprised to find General Mustang asleep at his desk, head in his hands, surrounded by paperwork. She had half expected the paperwork to have been nothing more than an excuse to get her to come in early, for whatever reason. Carefully, so as not to wake the sleeping alchemist, she gathered a small stack of papers and retreated to her desk on the other side of the room, pen in hand.  
The sun was fully risen by the time Mustang stirred, groaning softly as the sun shone down on his eyes. One eye was more open than the other as he looked blearily around the room, a bead of drool forming at the corner of his mouth. He had clearly not gone home in over a day, his hair disheveled and uniform desperately in need of an ironing. It took him a moment to realize he wasn't alone, even as his eyes meet his Lieutenant's.  
“Lieutenant..? Oh! Lieutenant! Wh-what are you doing here so early?” Almost panicked, he wiped away the spittle and tried to straighten his hair, only managing to somehow make it messier.  
Hawkeye quirked a single eyebrow, looking at him with a mixture of concern and maybe pity. “You called me last night and requested I come in early, sir. Do you not remember?” After another worried glance, she returns her focus to the stack of papers before her. Many of them didn't need to be done for another couple of days, at least. She was starting to think this was all a nebulous excuse after all.  
“Ah. No, I remember, Lieutenant. Thanks for being so dutiful.” Mustang cleared his throat again, attempting to salvage whatever remained of his dignity by organizing the papers on his desk. Many of them had only been half-finished in his sleepless stupor. He'd have to start over with the lot if he wanted to avoid an earful from old man Grumman.  
A flash of fury crossed his mind at the thought of Grumman. Was this just more of the chess game he was always playing? What benefit would the old man get from embarrassing Mustang to his own subordinate? Did he want to get those great grandkids or not, dammit? Mustang slammed his fist on the desk before him in frustration, eyes widening when he felt Hawkeye's worried gaze on him again.  
“Sir?” she began, but he cut her off by abruptly rising to his feet.  
“I'm fine. I need a shower. Hold down the fort for me, Lieutenant.” Without another word, he stormed passed her, jacket in hand, and closed his office door behind him, maybe a little harder than he intended.  
Riza Hawkeye knew better than to think his strange mood was her fault, but she would be lying to herself if she didn't wonder why he was acting so erratic. As far as she could tell, nothing had changed between them within the last few days. In fact, the only thing that had been different lately was the presence of Fuhrer Grumman, her grandfather. Normally, his presence made Mustang feel more at ease, unless...  
“Oh, that bastard.” Rising to her feet with much the same fury that her commanding officer showed not five minutes earlier, she storms out of the office and locks the door behind her, gritting her teeth as she stomps down the hallways, rage blazing in her eyes as privates and enlistees dive out of her way and snap hasty salutes. They knew better than to get in her way.

Across the headquarters, Fuhrer Grumman had set up an interim office in the great hall, though he kept his desk nearer the door than the back wall. He found morale improved when the leader of the whole country seemed approachable, an idea taken from the playbook of their treasonous previous leader, Bradley. Say what you wanted about the man's ideals and... well, attempts to kill everyone, when he wasn't starting bloody wars for the sake of ritual sacrifice, he knew how to lead and inspire a people.  
The biggest challenge Grumman found with leading the entire country was how incredibly boring the job was when everything was working as intended. Without a crisis to lead, disputes to mediate, or wars to win, there was really almost nothing to do. His generals were competent enough to handle matters on their own, and even the regent he left in Central while he visited his old stomping ground reported nothing amiss.  
As such, it came as no surprise to himself that his mind had turned to simpler pleasures. No, not women, nor even really drink – it was far too early in the day for that. No, Fuhrer Grumman found himself enraptured by a children's toy. It was a deceptively simple thing, a series of colored cubes, three-by-three on each side, with the objective to match all colors together on their own side. He had been battling the thing for no less than two months and seemed to be even more mixed up than when he started. He began to worry he wasn't quite as sharp as he was in his youth.  
The sound of a scuffle tore the fuhrer's attentions away from the toy and, with a speed defying his age, replaces it with his trusty pistol, keeping the weapon hidden in his lap. The scuffling seemed to increase, the muffled words of his guards barely audible through the thick wooden doors. Grumman held his ground, knuckles tightening on the grip of his weapon. Now this was the excitement he was looking for!  
With a loud bang, the heavy doors flew open and bounced off the walls, leaving a sizable dent in the masonry. Grumman's grip faltered as he recognized the face of his assailant; his youngest granddaughter, face twisted in fury, dragging two military men twice her size, one on either arm.  
“GRANDFATHER!”  
“We're sorry sir! We told her you weren't to be disturbed, but she-”  
Grumman held up a hand, his lips spreading into a genial smile beneath his bushy mustache. He knew what this was about. “It's quite alright men. Leave us.”  
“But sir-”  
“That's an order sergeant. I'll be alright.”  
The young man hesitates, finally saluting and stepping out, his partner following him and pulling the heavy doors closed. One of them had to be wrenched out of the wall, but the doors shut after a bit of effort.  
“If you hear gunshots, do come to my aid, will you?” Grumman chuckled to himself, his voice catching in his throat as his eyes lock on his granddaughter's. “What, um, to what do I owe the visit, Lieutenant?”  
“WHAT DID YOU SAY TO ROY MUSTANG?!” She shouted at him, her voice making his ears ring. Always right to the point with this one.  
“You're the spitting image of your mother you know, Riza. I remember one day, oh, you should have seen it. She came barging in, much like you did-” Grumman paused as Riza reached behind her, pulling her pistol from her holster and placing the weapon on the desk between them rather roughly. Grumman's eyes flashed dangerously, meeting her gaze with one of his own. “You should know better than to threaten your Fuhrer, Lieutenan-”  
With incredible speed, Hawkeye's hand reached out and balled the neck of his uniform in her fist, tugging him forward with a flex of her arm. “ANSWER THE QUESTION, GRANDFATHER!” Sweat beaded at his temple, hands raised in surrender. He called her bluff, but she wasn't bluffing.  
“Okay, okay! I simply asked when...” Grumman gulped, real fear shaking his voice now. He cleared his throat, trying to pass it off as gas or something. “When the two of you... were going to get around to giving me some great-grandchildren. Nothing serious.”  
Grumman regretted everything he had ever done to get to this point in his life when he looked into his granddaughter's face. Her teeth grit together so hard her jaw ached, her face flushed red with rage and embarrassment.  
“You. WHAT?!” Her voice was so loud the soldiers on the other side of the door flinched, and passers-by stopped to glance curiously at the door.  
“Riza, you know that I-” he began, but she cut him off, releasing her death-grip on his uniform at the same time.  
“No! Grandfather, how could you? He's my commanding officer for God's sake!” furious tears welled in her eyes, this the most emotion she had shown in years, since the day she thought Mustang had died. Her breaths came hard and fast, fists balling and loosening at her sides as she struggled to resist hitting him in the face. Unfortunately, he was her family, and even worse, her boss. Even she couldn't get away with assaulting the Fuhrer, even if she wanted to.  
Grumman waited a moment before speaking, his voice quiet as the grave. “But you love him though, am I right?”  
The breath Riza sucked in through her teeth was more audible than his voice had been, but by her hesitation, the old man knew she had heard him. He forced himself to keep a passive face, since if he grinned like he wanted to, she might hit him.  
“That... That is not remotely the point here, Grandfather,” she began, but Grumman pressed his attack.  
“That's not a no, Riza. You love him, yes?” Grumman steepled his fingers, hiding his growing mirth behind them. Playing matchmaker was even more fun than his little toy!  
Riza bit her lip, her fury dying away. He was right, and she had known it for so long she had almost forgotten when it began. But she was far too stubborn to let it go so easily. “Yes. But that is still not the point!”  
“Then what is the point?”  
“The point, grandfather, is that he's still my commanding officer. It would be wrong for me to engage in fraternization with a superior officer and might damage his image.” She had managed to slip into her usual business-like tone, focusing on matching his mental assaults with her own defenses. She had walked into a minefield. She'd have to navigate carefully to make it out safely.  
“Any damage done he can certainly do by himself. I'd say seeing him settle down would do more to help his image than hurt it.” Knight to F3. Check. Your move, Riza.  
“B-but, regardless, it's against the rules for officers and their subordinates to sleep together. He could get in serious trouble.” Step carefully now... so many mines...  
“Riza, sweetheart, I'm the Fuhrer. You really think that I would allow your happiness to damage either of your careers?” Queen to G4. Check again. Think carefully, I have you right where I want you.  
She was surrounded, with so few safe paths to take. But she couldn't stand still, it wasn't who she was. Advance or die. “Such nepotism is frowned upon! It's why I refused a promotion; I didn't want it to seem like you were favoring me over anyone else!”  
Checkmate, Riza. “Then resign your position. Clearly, this career is holding you back from what both of you really want.” And I want those damn grandbabies.  
That... was not the response she had anticipated. Resign her position, out of selfish love for someone she could never be with? That was... stupid. Incredibly stupid. “Grandfather, don't be ridiculous.”  
“Who's being ridiculous, Riza? Think about it. Why did you join the military in the first place?”  
“Grandfather, I-”  
“To protect him, yes? You told me as much already.”  
“To help him change it! To save the country from Fuhrer Bradley!”  
Grumman allowed himself a small smile, spreading his arms as if to indicate the world around them. “An admirable goal indeed, and one that has been fully accomplished. Or are we worried I might start a few wars to summon God again?”  
“No, I-” Riza started, but stopped before she could continue. She had jumped over one mine to land face-first onto another. Damn this old bastard. Damn him straight to hell.  
“Riza. My Granddaughter. The only thing I want for you is happiness. If you would be more happy as a soldier, fighting wars and slaying enemies of the state, then by all means, stay.” His face softens, his gaze one of loving compassion as he reaches out and takes one of her hands in his own. “The world needs more soldiers like you, my dear. But, I suspect this is not where you belong. You belong by Mustang's side, protecting him not from bullets, but from his own reckless impulsiveness.”  
Riza's grip was slack in her grandfather's hand. She wasn't sure how she felt about all this. She certainly wasn't sure what she really wanted. But now that it had been brought up, she wasn't sure she could think straight until she figured it out. “Grandfather, I-”  
“Hush, sweetheart. Don't rush into this decision. Sleep on it. Drink a cup of tea. Relax, and let your mind wander.” He squeezed her hand in his own before letting it go, the limb hanging limp at her side. “Life is like chess. Sometimes you have to sacrifice something of yours to get what you really need.”  
Riza stood silently before him, her grandfather thankfully remaining silent as she mulled through her thoughts. It took a long while before she came to a decision, her eyes regaining that intense resolve she was so known for. “Thank you, Fuhrer. You've given me a lot to think about.” With a smart salute, she turned on her heel, heading for the doors. The soldiers flinched as she left, but she paid them no mind. As the wooden doors sighed shut once more, Grumman finally let out the tense breath he had been holding. He was getting too old for this. With a sigh, he reached for his toy again. In less than two minutes, he had it solved.

***

“General Mustang?”  
Mustang looked up from his seat on the floor by the door to his office, looking for the source of the voice. He looked less disheveled and homeless, but was still clearly tired. After a moment, he caught sight of Hawkeye returning, her eyes much softer than they had been previously. “Greetings, Lieutenant.”  
“Why are you sitting on the floor outside, General?” She reached out a hand to help him up, which he took gratefully.  
“I... locked my keys in the office.” he muttered pathetically. She couldn't help but roll her eyes, fishing her keys from her pocket and opening the door for him. “Thank you, Lieutenant. What would I ever do without you?”  
Hawkeye couldn't help but smile. “you'd probably be drunk in a ditch somewhere, sir.” She made to follow him in, but stopped at the doorway. “Sir, requesting permission to take the day off.” She spoke without thought, almost surprised she had said it out loud.  
“Why? Did something happen, Lieutenant Hawkeye?” Roy glanced at her over his shoulder, a questioning eyebrow raised in her direction.  
“Personal business, sir. Nothing terribly important. I would consider this a favor.” Her heart beat harder in her chest, though she wasn't quite sure why.  
Roy blinked, intrigued by her response. Nothing important was happening, so he couldn't see why not. He only hoped this didn't have anything to do with his erratic behavior this morning. “Permission granted, Lieutenant. Have a good day.”  
“Thank you sir.” She turned to leave, but stopped herself in the doorway, turning back towards him. “General? If it wouldn't be too much trouble, could I bother you to stop by my apartment some time tonight? I need your help with something.” She hoped her tone was even and hiding the trembling apprehension she felt bubbling just beneath the surface.  
“Of course, Lieutenant. It would be my pleasure. I'll see you tonight.”

***

Riza had been a nervous mess for the better part of three hours. After she had run out of errands to run and had given Hayate so many walks he refused to go on another, the lieutenant had found herself alone with her thoughts once more. She couldn't help but think how poorly everything could go if she decided to go through with it. He could deny her. He could reprimand her. Worse yet, he could pity her. This whole situation was far more trouble than it was worth. She should call him and tell him not to come, make up a lie that whatever she needed help with was done already, that Rebecca had swung by and helped.  
Like something out of a cliched romance novel, the moment she picked up her telephone, a sharp rap on her door told her she was too late. She could still lie. She could pretend not to be home. She could not be a coward and face her feelings head-first. As she padded barefoot over to the door, she decided on the last one.  
The first thing through the door was a bouquet of flowers. She still had no idea where he kept getting all of them, but every time he asked if she wanted any, she had the same response, so he wasn't sure why he kept trying. “Thank you General, but I-”  
“-Don't have a vase, I remember. That's what this is for,” With a clever smile, he swung his other hand from behind his back, revealing a hawk-patterned vase. Taking the flowers from her, he filled the vase partway with cold water and placed the flowers within. “Adds a nice splash of color to the place, don't you think?  
Riza hoped she wasn't blushing. “Yes sir, they're beautiful. Thank you, sir.”  
Mustang managed to hide most of his frown – part of him hoped that when she had invited him over, she would let him see a less formal side of her. But it didn't matter. He was here because she asked. “You're welcome Lieutenant. Now then, what can I help you with?”  
Riza's mouth went dry, but she hid her thoughts behind an emotionless mask, a skill she had perfected over the last few years. Unfortunately, she hadn't thought this far. Remember, Riza. Head-first. “Well sir, I had wanted to talk with you in private. You see sir, I spoke with the Fuhrer earlier-”  
Oh, shit. Roy froze a moment, like a deer in oncoming headlights. This wasn't good.  
“-and he gave me some advice, and I was hoping to hear your opinion,” she finished, her mask flawless.  
Wait. Had Grumman not thrown him under the bus? “And what advice was that, Lieutenant?”  
Riza sucked in a deep breath through her nose. She could smell his scent. “He suggested that I leave the military to pursue romantic entanglement with a superior officer, sir.”  
Deer, meet headlights. “Do I know this officer?”  
“I should hope so, sir.”  
Mustang couldn't breathe. He couldn't move. He couldn't bring himself to turn and look her in the eyes, for fear of this being some cruel joke put on by her grandfather. He trusted her. But he didn't trust that old fart in the least, not right now.  
“...Okay Lieutenant. And what is your opinion on this advice?”  
“I'm unsure, sir. On the one hand, I desire it more than I expected. On the other hand, and with all due respect, sir, I'm worried how well you'll fare without me around.” She was staring at her feet, her voice still strong despite it.  
She had a fair point. He wouldn't last a minute without her there to make sure he didn't ruin something with his impulsive tendencies. That just made his previous decision all the more important.  
“You wanted my opinion, Lieutenant?”  
A tense, quiet moment passed between them. She seemed uncharacteristically afraid of what he might say. “Yes, sir.”  
Roy sucked in a breath through his nose. The flowers on the counter top before him was all he could smell, but they still reminded him of her. “An old friend once said to me 'Sometimes, you have to sacrifice something of yours to get something you really need.' I've been thinking about that thought all day.”  
Behind him, Riza's fist clenched in anger. What was the fuhrer playing at, telling them both the same drivel? They were not his pawns to play with!  
“And I think, talking to you Lieutenant, I've realized what that means. You should stay in the military. I'll be the one to go.” The strangest sound left the lieutenant's mouth, a mix between a strangled cough and a laugh. “Lieuten-” Roy turned to face her, eyes widening when, very suddenly, Hawkeye's form plowed into him, her lips pressing against his as her fingers dig into the back of his long coat, holding him tight. It didn't take long for him to return her kiss, his wide eyes closing and his arms wrapping around her strong form, squeezing her tight against his chest.  
Lips swollen and eyes red with the threat of tears, finally she pulls her lips free of his, letting out a half-laugh, half-cry. “Don't be an idiot, Sir. The country needs you. And I will not let you punish the whole country because of me.” She kisses him again, cutting off his retort, smiling as she feels him relent under her kiss. “I'll be the one to leave. But don't you dare think that I'll do anything less to keep you in line. I'll know where you sleep, sir.” She smiles, the biggest, most sincere smile she had ever shared with another living human.  
“Lieutenant, I-”  
“What did I just say, sir? I quit. Call me Riza.”  
“...Riza. Are you sure about this? You know this means you'll have to start calling me Roy.”  
“I'm sure. Now shut up and kiss me, Roy Mustang.”  
Roy was all too happy to oblige, his hands moving from her back to her full cheeks, holding her tight as his lips pressed and slid against hers. Time seemed to pause around them as they embraced, hands and lips exploring each other as they kissed. Roy was the one to make the first move, his tongue slipping between his lips to touch against hers. She complimented him perfectly, returning his passion with her own, proving to be more than an even match for him. It didn't take long to reduce them both to breathless masses of affection, taking a quick break to breathe before she took initiative this time, balling the front of his shirt in her fist and pulling him towards her small bed.  
Turning to face him again, she pressed her lips to his even as she falls butt-first onto her firm mattress, the springs groaning from the added stress of a second person they had never experienced. As they sat before each other, lips locked tight, Hawkeye once more made the first move, her hands splaying over his chest, fingers exploring the taught muscles of his chest and abdomen so annoyingly hidden from her view beneath his shirt.  
“This has to go.” Her voice was quiet but deep, husky with desire. This was moving so fast. But the more she thought about it, the more it seemed like this was nothing more than a release of tension that had been building between them for almost seven years.  
Mustang's fingers were clumsy, shaking with want as he fought with each and every button before finally giving up and lifting the shirt up and off his head, tossing it aside to land in a pile beside his forgotten coat. Riza's eyes, so sharp and all-noticing, took their time dragging across Mustang's bare form, her mind wandering. She couldn't help but wonder how it would taste, as strange as that sounded.  
“Like what you see, Riza?”  
Riza responded by pushing her index finger against his lips, not even looking away from his body. “Don't you ruin this moment for me Roy.” Without another word, she leaned in, pressing a kiss against his chest, just above his nipple. It was salty, and befittingly, maybe even a little smokey. The taste filled her body with heat. As she continued kissing over his form, Roy's fingers wrapped in the hem of her shirt and started to tug it up her body, but her hands over his stopped him from continuing.

“Lights off.” She commanded, tone brooking no argument.  
“Well that doesn't seem fair.” Roy protested, his hands still wrapped in her shirt.  
“Lights. Off.” Her eyes locked with his, and Roy was left with no choice. Moving quickly, he rose to his feet, hurrying to her door and flicking the lights off. Careful not to trip over the detritus littering the floor, he makes his way back, a smile audible in his words as he crawls back onto the bed.  
“Now, where were we?” His hand reaches to grab her shirt again, instead finding her smooth bare skin beneath his fingertips, her voice letting out a soft purr at his touch. “Oh. That's where we were.” Riza groans and rolls her eyes, placing a hand on his cheek as his fingers move further up her muscled abdomen.  
“What did I say about ruining the moment?”  
“Not to.” Roy smirks, pressing his lips against hers again the same moment his hand moves over the swell of her breast, feeling the bud at the tip in his palm as he gives her an appreciating squeeze. Her voice reached a pitch he'd never heard her make as she fell back onto the mattress, pulling him on top of her without breaking their kiss. Her nails scraped against his sides and back as he fondled her, never giving one too much more attention than the other. This continued for a while, until Riza finally decided she had enough playtime. Her hands explored down his back and over his rump, giving him a squeeze as one moved to the other side, fondling him through his slacks, forcing an appreciative groan from the man.  
Thankfully, Roy decided to keep his words to himself, instead choosing to slip out of his pants and undergarments in silence. Riza followed his lead, reaching over and taking him full in her hand once she was finished. Before he could crawl over her again, she rose to her knees, kissing his neck and shoulder as she stroked him in her hand. He responded in kind, wrapping one hand around her back and between her legs as the other paid attention to her breasts once more. After a time, she gently bit his earlobe, whispering quietly.  
“I think I'm ready, Roy.”  
Nodding affirmative, Roy gently but commandingly pressed her back onto the mattress, parting her legs as he climbed over her prone from, nestling himself between her thighs. Caressing her sides and chest once more, he leans over and presses a kiss to her lips, rolling his hips forward in tandem, his cock slipping between the folds of her core smoothly and easily.  
“Oh god...” she breathed, breaking their kiss to gasp as he slides himself up and into her body, stars sparkling across her vision. He sat there a moment, surrounded by blissful wet heat, before slowly sliding back again, her whole body shivering beneath him.  
“You okay?” Roy whispers into her ear, kissing the shell of her ear and down to her jaw as he slowly starts to roll forward again.  
“If you stop I swear to God I will shoot you dead,” she all but growls, her head falling back onto the pillow as he responds with a hard thrust, the slap of his hip against her thighs echoing through the small apartment.  
“Yes Ma'am.” Roy smirks wider, burying his face in her neck and breathing her scent as he starts a quick pace, his cock filling her completely with every other thrust. She squeezed and squirmed beneath him with every blissful thrust, the pair of newly-minted lovers completely lost in each others bodies. After a moment, Roy got to his knees, his hands slipping under her rump to position her better, and began to thrust again, this time the new angle making her cry out and bite at the back of her hand, trying to quiet her groans as he struck against a spot deep inside her, over and over again.  
“None of that. I want to hear everything.” Roy reaches down and pulls her hand from her mouth, pinning it above her head by the wrist as the other quickly moves to dive into Roy's pitch-black hair, pulling hard as he rocks into her again and again.  
“Roy... Oh god, Roy, just a little more...” Riza bit down on her bottom lip hard, eyes screwing shut as, sooner than she expected, Roy's careful ministrations pushed her over the edge, her fingers digging into his hair and the sheets beneath them both.  
Releasing her hand, Roy once more lowered himself on top of her panting form, catching her moaning lips in a kiss as his thrusts grew more wild, her climax squeezing him tight as he rolls and thrusts. As Riza hooked one leg around his hip, Roy managed a few more thrusts before his own dam burst. The whole of his body tensed, heat flooding from his body and filling hers. As they collapsed on top of each other, limbs tangled together and lips weakly pressing against one another, they simply choose to lay together, unwilling or unable to move.  
Eventually, the pair manage to separate, but only long enough to come together again, Riza nestling herself in Roy's arms, his broad shoulders and long arms wrapping tight around her, his fingers gently tracing the scars he left on her back so many years ago.  
He would never hurt her again.

***

Hours later, reluctantly, Riza feels herself slowly coming to consciousness. Rather than accept it as she usually did, she instead fights it with everything inside her, burying her face in Roy's chest and giving it the smallest kiss. She wouldn't give this up for anything.

It was the first night she didn't have a nightmare.


End file.
